On Returning Home

It is a pleasure to move Sentence x Sentence into its new home here within Hillside Writing. Although Hillside has just launched, the vision of it has been around for several years. And so pulling up the Sentence x Sentence posts and moving them from their original ground on Tumblr can feel more like a homecoming than a replanting. 

And this has me recalling some of the most useful and sustaining words I know about returning home and the practice of writing. In the preface to his collected stories, All the Days and Nights, William Maxwell writes: 

... I had no idea that three-quarters of the material I would need for the rest of my writing life was already at my disposal. My father and mother. My brothers. The cast of larger-than-life-size characters — affectionate aunts, friends of the family, neighbors white and black — that I was presented with when I came into the world. The look of things. The weather. Men and women long at rest in the cemetery but vividly remembered. The Natural History of home: the suede glove on the front-hall table, the unfinished game of solitaire, the oriole's nest suspended from the tip of the outermost branch of the elm tree, dandelions in the grass. All there, waiting for me to learn my trade and recognize instinctively what would make a story or sustain the complicated cross-weaving of longer fiction. 

Good guidance for a writer of any age, whatever the genre or project. That there is an enduring imaginative promise in details from home — details that are always "waiting" there — is particularly instructive and encouraging for young writers, I've found. Willa Cather put it more succinctly: “Most of the basic material a writer works with is acquired before the age of fifteen.” As a teacher and a writing coach, I find the practice of helping another to discover and sort through what's concretely there and compelling in the memory of home to be an especially satisfying pursuit.